


Love is What he Need

by honeybee_motorcyles



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Autistic Sherlock Holmes, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, John Watson is rich, M/M, POV John Watson first person, Romance, Sherlock has autism, Sherlock's parents - Freeform, non verbal autism, the third holmes brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28283166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee_motorcyles/pseuds/honeybee_motorcyles
Summary: It was John Watson's last year in Medical School, when his father drunk his way to hell, so John needed to  work as an aid for a student with Autism.Thank you, ilikestopwatches for the proof read and beta
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Love is What he Need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [J_Baillier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Baillier/gifts).



8 September 2013

I woke up early today as it is my first day of the last year of my medical training. The year has been tough. Father, who was a doctor, and a very successful one at that lost all of our money. My father lost millions. I don’t know what to think about that, knowing that my father lost everything by drinking and betting. 

I had never needed to work my entire life. Until now. I will work as an aid to some students with a disability with their exams and just being a friend to them.

I went downstairs, as I lived alone just outside campus. Grabbing a granola bar I went to sit down in my living room. It was a sunny day and, as I was about to leave, my phone rang; it was my friend from Student affairs. “Watson?” 

I heard Mike Stamford’s voice. “John, you’re twenty minutes late. Your charge has been waiting for you.”

Oh shit, I thought as I gathered my things and started to leave for campus. I went to a last hurrah party last night. “I’ll be there in five,” I said and hung up.

I biked the distance to the campus and ran to student affairs at the administration building. 

“Hi, John,” Mike Stamford greeted me by the door. “William is a music major with autism.”

“What does he need an aid for?” I asked, because I studied developmental psychology before changing majors to medicine. “I know that many people on the spectrum can talk. Can he?” 

Mike shrugged. “He can, but very limited.”

“Limited how?”

“According to this file,” Mike glanced at the file he was holding. “Oh, just a couple of words, he uses a tablet or his laptop to speak but he’s one of the best students in the whole of his program. Top of his class last year.”

“Oh, so why does he need an aid? If he is the best student in Cambridge?” I said. 

“He’s a recovering drug addict.”

“Oh?” As I entered the room, I first saw the young man sitting on the couch fidgeting with his fingers. He had long dark brown hair, he was looking down with his grey-green eyes and he was wearing a standard Cambridge hoodie but instead of joggers or shorts he was wearing chinos and leather boots. With him was a man in his mid twenties pacing around the room.

“Hey?” I said, crouching down next to the younger man. “William, right?”

Then, his iPad sounded from his lap. “You're studying medicine in your last year, your father is a drunk and a gambler. He just lost millions. You went to a day school in London.”

“How did you know that?” I said astonished.

He shrugged and began typing. “You don’t live here - you live off campus. You were fifteen minutes late and your watch has been passed down generations. By the way, the name is Sherlock Holmes.”

I glanced at the watch that my father gave me when I gave up developmental psychology and went to medicine. It was a Rolex Presidential white gold with a blue face, that I rarely used because I hated it. 

“Sherlock, then, it’s John Watson.” I put my hand up for him to shake. He reluctantly shook it. 

Sherlock stood up and I marvelled at how tall he was; he was 6 ft. He was handsome. Then the older man followed and beckoned me in. “I am his brother, Mycroft. I work for the government,” The man told me. “Sherlock has level 1 autism but he is what they call a generational talent in music and science.”

“Why can’t he talk?” I asked, watching as Sherlock scowled.

Then the robotic voice answered me. “I hate when people ask that of other people as if I am not listening or I don’t understand. The fact i have ASD dosen’t make me dumb.”

I felt my face burn in embarrassment. “Sorry, Sherlock, sorry,” I said. 

Mycroft left Sherlock and I at the curb near the entrance of the administration building.

This morning, I went to class with Sherlock, Music Theory and Composition. Because Sherlock doesn’t want a ‘buddy’ at all, I worked in the room as a teaching assistant. The class went on smoothly for our first day.

At one, I met Sherlock. He was in one of the practice rooms of the conservatory. He typed on the iPad, “Accompany me?”

“Sherlock, wait,” I said, catching up to him as he was moving down the hallway. “Where are we going?”

“To the music room. I know you play piano, I can see that you have pianist fingers,” he replied through the iPad, looking at me directly which I thought was unnatural for him. 

Sherlock plopped on one of the chairs, tuning his violin. “What are we playing?” I asked as I went to the piano to warm up my fingers.

Then Sherlock’s very disused voice answered me. “Bach & Beatles,” he said while tuning his instrument. He had vocal stims but that was the first I heard his voice say words and it’s beautiful and very baritone.

“Okay,” I said looking at him closely.

We first played “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” . He played the melody while I played the accompaniment. Sherlock and I played it okay, I thought. The piece was easy, connected and lovely. At that moment, I started to fall dangerously in love with someone who was a mentee, and had autism spectrum disorder. I won’t tell Sherlock or hell, his brother.

We did a Beatles song next, it was a McCartney composition, For No One. Sherlock sang it beautifully. How could a person be non-verbal and sing so gracefully. This was amazing. I got so teary eyed while I was accompanying him. 

Sherlock looked at me and typed on his iPad. “Why are you crying?”

“Are you serious? That was great, Sherlock, amazing.”

“So, happy tears?” Sherlock asked me. 

I nodded, as we started playing again. Sherlock went to the piano and played a short rendition of heart and soul. “It’s amazing, Sherlock,” I said as I felt my stomach growl. 

Sherlock stopped playing abruptly to type on his iPad. “You’re hungry. You want to eat?”

“Oh, Sherlock, I am very hungry, thank you,” I said, as he shouldered his violin. 

We walked from the conservatory to the busy canteen. My companion, as soon as we were inside, put his hands on his ears. “Oh, Sherlock,” I said, escorting him outside. 

“I have food at my place, you could go there?” Sherlock nodded his head. “You know how to bike right?” He rolled his eyes. 

It was almost three in the afternoon. I had class by four.

Sherlock saved me by typing, “I could go see you tonight if you want to give me your address.” I frowned and Sherlock noticed. “I would like to be your real friend, John.”

I looked at him. “I am,” I said. 

“See you later, Sherlock, okay?” I said as we were parting. 

As soon as he left, I started this online diary.  
——————

30 October 2013

Today, Sherlock and I are going to a Halloween party. I am very excited for him, because he hadn’t gone to one for years. I asked him why and he told me that he didn’t have anyone to go with until today.

Sherlock and I have been friends for almost two months. As I told him on the first day, we are real friends - not just for the programme. I meant that. We do everything together. We go on bike rides at the weekends and play music on our breaks. 

I fetched Sherlock from his single dorm room. Sherlock was wearing a Captain Hook Costume with his phone hanging from his neck like a cross. “You look good, Sherlock,” I said, ogling him. 

Sherlock typed on his iPhone. “I know,” he said and I laughed. That’s what I like about him: how honest he is.

I was wearing a sexy police officer costume. I thought I saw Sherlock looking at me that way but maybe I was mistaken.

“Ready to go,” I said. He closed the door to his room. We took our bikes to a club outside campus, just like we have done countless times by now. It was a fast cycle. 

We arrived at the dance club where the party was being held. Sherlock was nervous going inside so I put my hand on his arm to calm him. “Alright?” He nodded, sound sensitive then.

We danced our way on the dance floor. I kept a close eye on him because he’s my responsibility according to school rules even if we weren’t on campus and I am protective of my friends. 

Sherlock is an amazing dancer. He moved as well as he can sing or play a musical instrument and people were noticing.

A man approached him; I could see Sherlock’s anxiety level rise as he looked at me. I did the only thing I could think of. I approached him, putting my hand on the small of his back and led him to a table glaring at the man.

“Thank you,” he said. I now know he can speak but he has limited capacity, he can only say fifteen words, however he can sing and even write songs. He doesn’t call me by my name but I know that he knows I am his friend. 

“You're very welcome, and it’s nothing.” We resumed dancing, now, near our seats. I ordered us drinks. 

As I went back and sat next to him, I noticed something was wrong. There was a glass on the table. “Did you drink this, Sherlock?” I asked, holding up the glass while peering at his eyes. No response, bloody hell. “What the fuck, Sherlock, are you tripping?” Again no response. “Sherlock, I swear to god.”

I was thinking of how I was going to explain this to Mycroft Holmes. I called 999. “Hello, I was with my friend and he was I don’t know hallucinating.” The operator was an idiot and asked me ridiculous questions. “I don’t know what he took. He has Autism.”

“Okay,” the woman said. “An ambulance is on its way.”

In the meantime I left the pub, dragging Sherlock out of there. A couple of minutes later, we were at the university hospital. By the time we got there, Sherlock was having a meltdown.

When they brought him in, Sherlock was flailing his arms and legs in complete sensory overload. Was this the drugs? I asked myself. This was harder than I had thought because I couldn’t just ask him. First he is non-verbal and a middle of all of this, I can’t it’s was hard. 

“We need to sedate him,” the doctor said while I was stroking Sherlock’s hair. 

“Can I call his brother?” John said. 

“Okay,” the doctor said and left to order a nurse to strap Sherlock in the bed.

I took a deep breath and nervously tapped my fingers on my mobile. I thought, was this accidental? Sherlock was a recovering addict. I clicked call. “Hello, Mycroft.” He answered at the first ring. “It's John Watson, listen, I am with Sherlock at A&E.”  
“What happened, is it drugs?” 

“Yes, they don’t know what drug it is yet but they want to sedate him.” 

“Okay,” he said. 

“Can I ask you something, Mycroft?”

He sounded sad when he answered, “You want to know if Sherlock has done this before?”

I nodded before I realised that he couldn't see me, “Yes, can you tell me?” 

I could hear Mycroft sigh. “When he was seventeen, he overdosed on Adderall.”

I could see now what the implication of this was. “I just thought that when Mike said that Sherlock was an addict he took pot or something."

“Last year he took cocaine.” I was dismayed, Mycroft sighed again. 

“I’ll update you.” Mycroft hung up. I walked back to the emergency bay. The doctor nodded.

“Can I talk to you?” 

He pulled me aside. “We had to sedate him as he was getting agitated. His blood came back positive for alcohol and LSD, cocaine.”

I sighed, getting agitated. I just needed to visit him. “Okay,” I said moving to his bay. 

Sherlock was asleep when I got to the room. I sat down next to him on an uncomfortable chair. I didn’t know what to feel. My best friend was an addict. What I didn’t understand was why.

Sherlock woke up several hours later and he looked at me. He looked very apologetic and I was very angry. However, first thing's first, I handed him a glass of water which he drank gratefully.

I handed him his phone, and said, “Explain, Sherlock.”

He shrugged, tapping his fingers on his arm. 

“Sherlock, you know what you did is wrong. I want to understand, I do, okay. What I don't understand is why?”

He sighed, typing furiously. “I knew I’d screw up, however, I was just very bored and I thought you would understand that all my life I never had the freedom to be who I was.”

“What do you mean?"

“Do you think my parents let me just be?” He asked, the robotic voice was incongruent with to the implication words. 

I now knew. “Oh, Sherlock, I am sorry so, you’re rebelling?”

“Yes,” he said. He sounded dreadful. And then he typed, “In a way.”

“So, are you saying that you took an overdose because you were put into therapy?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”” I thought of what to tell him. “Sherlock.”” He was now nervously tapping his fingers on his lap as if he was playing the piano. “You don’t need to pretend in front of me, okay?” I knew that ABA therapy was torture on him. He nodded and fell back asleep.

——————

24 December 2013

When Sherlock and I left Cambridge to go to his parents’ house near Kensington Garden in London, he sat rocking back and forth in my car. He was very nervous. I didn’t know why. 

I decided to come with Sherlock because my family would never be the same. My parents are divorcing; they told me the last time I visited. So when Sherlock offered for me to come, I said yes right away.

After two and a half hours we arrived at the Holmes manor. It was a big old Victorian home. I couldn’t believe it. It was as though he lived at Downton Abbey. I commented on this as we were led inside. I grew up upper class in Liverpool and went to Calderstones but I have to admit this was lavish even for me.

The butler came to get us. He was quiet and Sherlock scowled at him. Sherlock texted me something, ‘Don’t engage them.’ I nodded my head. Then we were walking up wide sets of stairs. Sherlock was hugged by a teenager with straight black hair and blue-green eyes. “Lock,” She said.

Sherlock hugged her back. He fumbled for his phone, “Hello Sherrin, where’s mum and dad?" he said.

Sherrin was vocal stimming, like a locomotive engine. “At the shops. Johann Sebastian Bach composed six little preludes. Would you want to hear?” She turned to me. 

Sherlock sighed and typed, “He has severe autism but he has a talent with music like me but unlike me he is unable to lead a normal life.” 

I nodded. “I can see that.” We followed he to his room upstairs wherein sat a baby grand piano. Her room was huge, maybe bigger than my flat. 

“John,” Sherlock said., I loved hearing my name spoken by him. I know he practised my saying it, though it didn’t come naturally for him. And he typed, “be right back, I’ll just get my violin.”

“Okay.”  
I waited with Sherrin, in her room. He was playing, I looked around the room, it was nice with high ceilings. Sherlock came in with a violin. We left his at my apartment. 

Two minutes later, Sherlock was holding a Stradivarius violin in his hand and I was gaping at it. “You own a strat?” I said marvelling at the instrument. That was why he left his at mine. 

He nodded. 

“What year is it?”

He thought for a bit and type. “1798.” 

Then Sherrin piped up from the piano. “Play now.”

Sherlock looked at his sister while he was fixing his bow, and nodded. He gestured at me to sit down. I pulled out the chair and sat down.

From the first note on, Sherlock and Sherrin played beautifully. They played a Bach piece, a baroque sonata in G minor. Sherlock had his eyes closed while his sister concentrated on the keyboard. The piece was amazingly done and it was very apparent that these two played a lot.

They played more songs, until a car sounded outside. Sherlock stopped playing abruptly and went to the window. He sighed loudly and took a deep breath.

“Who’s that?”

“Mummy and Father,” Sherlock typed and showed me.

Great, I am going to meet his parents, I thought as I walked down the stairs. Sherlock's steps were deliberate, like he was thinking through a complex puzzle. His hands that were normally restless stilled which unsettled me. 

“Sherlock, what’s wrong?” 

My friend shook his head. 

Sherlock’s mother kissed him on the cheek. “Introduce your friend, Sherlock,” she said challengingly.

He bit on his lip nervously. “This… is… John…” he said haltingly. I smiled shyly. 

Then his mother scowled. “That’s not how we introduce our friends.”

“No problem—“

His mother turned to me. “He should be more polite,” she said and turned to my best friend. “Sherlock, say John, these are my parents. Mum, Dad this is John, my friend.”

I frowned at her. Sherlock was non-verbal and they wanted him to speak. What the hell? And meanwhile, Sherlock dutifully said the words.

We went to the family room and on the way there his father pulled me aside.  
“John?” We went to the dining room. “Sherlock’s got apraxia, and high functioning autism.” his father said.

“I know,” I said. 

His father took a deep breath. “I know what you heard earlier and I could see that you didn’t approve of our methods…”

I protested. “I didn’t say...”

He cut me off. “Your face, look anyway, Mycroft isn’t my son. He is my wife’s from her ex, and although he loves Sherlock and Sherrin he won’t go above and beyond for Sherrin. Sherlock would. We just need him to be his best self.”

“I understand.”

_______________

25 December 2013

I woke up in Sherlock’s room. I asked him last night if I could sleep on the sofa in his room because I could feel that there was someone watching me. He said yes with a derisive snort. So, I was here in his bedroom when Sherrinford bounded in. 

“It's Christmas, ‘Lock,” Sherrinford said, bouncing on Sherlock’s bed.  
I could hear Sherlock on his bed rustling to get up. He went to the bedroom and I got up as well.

We went down to the ground floor, the Christmas tree was surrounded by at least fifty gifts all around the room. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the festivity of it all. Mr and Mrs Holmes were there sitting on their respective chairs.

Sherrinford went first, like a kid on Christmas morning he jumped and ran towards the Christmas tree. Sherlock followed at a more sedate pace. 

We all sat down around the tree. There were even a few gifts for me as well, a bottle of perfume and a pair of Ray Bands to name a few.

After opening our presents we changed our clothing. And we went and ate good food. 

__________  
In the afternoon, Sherlock had a meltdown and ran from the house without any plum. I know that he loved to run but, without his phone, we couldn’t locate him. 

So, his dad and I went on a hunt calling his name. We walked from their house to the Princess Diana Memorial Playground. He was looking down at a play area, rocking and flopping his hands. 

It was good that there weren’t people milling around. We moved steadily towards him. “Sherlock, what are you doing here?” I asked.

I handed him his phone. “I want to see the pirate ship,” he said with his phone. We sat next to him on the bench he was sitting at. “As you know I wanted to be a pirate growing up. It was because of this.” 

His father had gone home shortly after we found him. We just sat there for three hours straight until it was time to be getting ready for Mycroft's visit. 

——————————-

14 February

Today was Valentine's Day, and I was going to ask Sherlock for a date. Since Christmas, we have grown closer. It’s just a matter of time until something gives. Sherlock and I are best friends but the sexual tension was killing me; I could no longer take this. 

I had planned the perfect first date in a small bistro with music. Sherlock loved playing music in front of a crowd. 

I had quit my job because it wasn’t fulfilling me anymore and, besides, with Sherlock it was unethical. I am working as a waiter at one of the bistros off campus. But Sherlock and I still hang out together, a lot. 

I met the man for lunch. “Sherlock,” I said and his aid Irene Adler sat on the other table next to us on the right.

Sherlock made a sound of acknowledgement. I noticed his eyes were red with blood. I was instantly concerned. “Sherlock?” I said moving my hand to his but he snatched it away. “What’s wrong?”

He looked very dejected. I looked at Irene. “Where’s his communication device?” I asked.

She looked at me and sighed. “He destroyed it this morning.” I looked up at her. 

“What?” I asked. I turned to Sherlock. “What happened?” I gave him my phone.

“I saw Irene this morning,” he typed on my phone and showed me. “I want you as my aid.” He looked very lost. 

“Oh, Sherlock, I am sorry,” I said. I didn’t tell him because he went with his family. “I know you were hurt by my actions but I think I am falling in love with you and I hope I could date you.” He was still sulking when I picked up his hand and kissed it. 

He was a very affectionate guy, Sherlock. I wasn’t. He would clap me on the back a lot and he would hug me in a very heated way. He knew I knew he knew what he was doing to me. 

Irene looked at me. “Are you sure?” she mouthed. 

I nodded at her. I am not naive. I knew that a relationship with a mute person, with autism, five years my junior wouldn’t be a good idea. “I am very sure.”

I turned to Sherlock. “You get your iPad.” He nodded and stood up. I followed him. “Where are we going?” He typed. 

“I will show you. You’ll like it.”

He followed me and the crowd of our fellow students to the campus. We walked from the campus to my car. I held his hand while I drove out of the campus to the bistro. 

As soon as he jumped out of my car, he was very excited so I opened the door and he latched his hand to mine and gave it a squeeze. I knew how much I love him already.

We went inside the bar. Sherlock looked to me, and it was quiet. He looked very pleased to be here with me. 

I went and ordered us drinks. I saw Sherlock looking at me with such love that I nearly froze. I really hoped to god I could love him like he deserved.

I sat back with our drinks and held Sherlock’s hand under the table. He just looked at me and gave my hand a tight squeeze back. He typed with his iPad, “I love you, John.”’

The music played a slow tune so I grabbed his arm and dragged him to where the dance floor wass. He and I danced to our hearts' content. 

At five in the afternoon, when the crowd was leaving, he looked at me and grabbed my hand and pressed my lips to his. I looked at him surprised. I will admit, it was a bit different to when I kissed him earlier.

We just sat on top of the roof of my car star gazing, with him typing and me talking about anything and everything. At one point, I asked him about the future, “Sherlock,” I said looking at him, “What are we doing?”

He looked at and sang in his beautiful baritone a part of a Bob Dylan song. “The answer my friend is blowing in the wind.” Yes, it is so true; we can never predict the future. He looked at me and typed on his iPad, “However, if I could just tell what my future would be, it would be You and Me.”

I smiled at him, and I held him next to me. I pointed out constellations to him but he was pretty oblivious to astronomy. I guessed that it was because of him having the particular brain that he has. 

We sat in the car with the sunroof open stargazing until the early hours of the morning, just talking and holding hands.

Valentine’s day Five years later, 

Sherlock and I are getting married today. I cannot believe this. This blog and the accompanying vlog was a successful endeavour where we share our lives, with five million subscribers on Youtube.

Sherlock finished his degrees last year, a year ahead of schedule. He was at the top of his class in both chemistry and music. I finished my internship last year. 

After graduation, Sherlock was approached by the London Philharmonic Orchestra to be a soloist in a production and after which a place with a group. That meant moving to London, which was fine. I miss Cambridge though. 

We are renting a flat in London: it is a two bedroom, one bath. Sherlock has a lab where he does experiments.  
My fiancé is still non-verbal and autistic and that will never change. It iss amazing how he’s improved greatly in many ways with his communication with me. He had the motivation to use sign, I learned sign language. When it came to intimacy, it was a different matter. We had to desensitise his nerves first slowly. 

“Sherlock, we’re getting late,” I told him picking up his things. He is a little messy and I have known this since five years ago when Sherlock first moved in with me.

Sherlock looked and rolled his eyes and signed. “I’ll be there in 5 minutes.”

I grinned and walked downstairs. 

The end


End file.
